


See You Through My Eyes

by WinchestersRaven



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchestersRaven/pseuds/WinchestersRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, king of motorcycle customization is approached by well-known photographer Charlie Bradbury, who is interested in holding a photo shoot with his bikes. The day of, Dean is excited to have the opportunity of showing off his hard work. When he meets Castiel Novak, a gorgeous male model, sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See You Through My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palominopup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/gifts), [Ravenwolf36](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenwolf36/gifts).



> Thank you, Hannah, for betaing this and your additional suggestions to make this flow better. [Her Ao3 BlackDog9314](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314)  
> Thank you, Melanie, for your help as well!  
> Fran, I added the leather chaps for you! :)  
> [My Tumblr](http://winchestersraven.tumblr.com//)

Dean walks the showroom floor of his motorcycle shop, making sure everything is polished within an inch of its life. The shop is closed for the day, giving his employees what almost amounts to a three-day weekend; they're thrilled.

Dean knows he's good at what he does. His custom choppers are in high demand countrywide; he’s even done a few orders for overseas customers. More than a few celebrities have bought a motorcycle and brought it to him for his customization skills.  

Last night, he had a few of his best bikes moved into the showroom, the others were moved to the storage area, and personally made sure to wash and wax them to glossy perfection. The chrome shines under the track lights on each motorcycle, chameleon paint on a few morphs easily into different colors as you walk by. His bikes are ready to have bodies in various states of undress draped over them.

A week ago, Dean had been approached by a well-known photographer, Charlie Bradbury, who expressed her interest in taking a few photos of his bikes. The woman specializes in combining both the beauty of the human body and further expresses that by adding the sexual appeal of motorcycles. Turning her down was simply not an option in Dean’s mind. He has seen her work and knows what she is capable of. It would be good press for the shop, and he found himself loving her quirky personality while they chatted over coffee.

Needless to say, he stayed late last night at the shop to make sure everything would run smoothly today. While he’s excited to begin the day, he's thankful he has a Red Bull to give him energy, because honestly, he is a bit tired. At eight on the dot, Charlie breezes into the shop with a crew tagging along behind her. The petite woman’s eyes are hidden behind sunglasses as she holds a cup of coffee against her chest as if it’s a lifeline.

Dean grins at her, “Late night, Miss Bradbury?”

A half-smile crosses her face as she shoves the aviators to the top of her head, “I do my own editing. I trust _no one_ with my work. And please, call me Charlie.” She looks around the shop, giving orders to her crew on where to set things up while inspecting each bike he has chosen. Charlie turns to Dean and chews on her bottom lip, “We need one more bike, one of our models is particular about what he poses with, and none of these will do.”

He doesn’t know if he should feel insulted or not, apparently Charlie picks up on this by adding, “These are great, don’t get me wrong, but there is a certain type I’m looking for in addition.”

Dean turns around and motions over his shoulder for her to follow him out to the storage area, “I’ve heard models can be divas, but not about what they straddle.”

A soft chuckle from the redhead echoes off the walls as they step into the warehouse behind the shop. “You haven’t met Castiel.”

Dean watches as Charlie inspects each bike closely, paying attention to even the smallest details. She steps back outside into the morning sun, “Who does that bike belong to?”

He walks over to stand beside her in front of the black Indian Scout sitting in the parking lot. He bought it as soon as it came off the line and customized it to fit his needs. The red flames that blaze up both sides are the handiwork of his friend, Benny Lafitte. “This work of art,” he states, running a hand gently over the bike in front of him, starting from the seat to handlebars, “is mine. I’ve dubbed her Baby Number Two.”

The woman snorts, “Number Two?” She shakes her head slightly, “Do I want to know what Baby Number One looks like?”

Dean’s grin is wide as he hooks his thumb into a belt loop of his jeans, “Follow me.” He takes her around the building to a small garage attached to the side of his shop. Lifting the door, Dean flips a switch on the wall and steps back.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Charlie says when her eyes land on his ’67 Chevy Impala. “Can I touch her?”

He nods his consent, “Be gentle, though. She’s a lady.” His green eyes twinkle with pride as he watches the woman absorb every inch of his car.

“This is a fine piece of American muscle,” she says, more to herself than to him.

“That she is, I helped my dad restore her when I was in my teens.” He leans against the wall, “Then I rebuilt her from the frame up a few years ago after a wreck.”

 _"Dude_ ,” Charlie says, “I can’t tell she’s ever been wrecked. You’re good at what you do.”

“I am.” He watches her for a few more minutes before hearing the unmistakable sound of the Imperial March coming from her phone in her hand. Dean laughs, “Star Wars fan?”

“Duh,” she answers, “They’re only like the best movies ever.” Charlie fiddles with the phone, “You think we could use your bike for a few shots?”

“I don’t see why not.” He chuckles, “Anything you use of mine is good PR for me. I may not have built that Indian, but I customized her.”

“Awesome sauce,” Charlie grins, her fingers moving across the screen of her phone before she puts it in her pocket. “Hey, you think I could get a few shots of your car, too?”

Dean nods, trying to keep his excitement under wraps. His baby in a magazine would be awesome. “Sure, if you want.”

“Cool. We should head back in. Most of the models are here.” Charlie leads the way out of the garage, “Time to work my magic.”

“Just let me know when you’re ready for my bike.” He points over his shoulder, “We’ll wait to move her in until then.”

* * *

An hour and a half later, Dean finds himself sitting in a chair watching Charlie in her element. He’s surrounded by half-naked, beautiful women, but he’s barely paid them any mind. Gorgeous women in California are a dime a dozen. Many women that have been on his arm at one time or another remind him of these models. They simply don’t grab his attention.

His focus is on the redhead in the middle of the room. She may be petite, but her presence is larger than life. She speaks to the models with the ease of a true professional, directing the models to give her exactly what she wants out of each shot. Half of the equipment in the room, Dean wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was or its function, but Charlie handles them with ease. It clearly shows her knowledge of the technology used for photography. He chuckles more than once when someone gets in Charlie’s way and she barks out them to step back, still keeping her tone polite with just enough bite.

When a tall man walks through his door with the most ridiculous set of blue eyes Dean has ever had the opportunity to look into; he can’t tear his gaze away. The man is at least a couple inches shorter than Dean, with unruly dark hair and a lithe runner’s body, but Dean can see muscle definition under the t-shirt that clings to him like a second skin.

The man holds eye contact with Dean just a bit longer than strictly necessary before nodding at him with a little smirk and walking over to the redhead in the center of the room.

“Hey, Boss,” he murmurs in a deep voice and damn if that doesn’t send pleasant chills down Dean’s spine. Charlie looks over at the newcomer and informs him that she's almost finished with Eve, and to hang back for a couple of minutes. While still focused on the woman in front of her, Charlie introduces the man to Dean, “Dean Winchester, this is Castiel Novak.”

The man, Castiel, walks over to Dean with long powerful strides, but enough grace that it’s easy to imagine him walking a runway. He holds out his hand, “So, you’re Dean Winchester, king of customization?”

Dean takes the man’s hand in his and tries to ignore the spark he feels from the simple gesture. “That’s me. But, I’m not sure if I’d go as far as to call me the king of customization.” He grins and presses his hand to Castiel’s palm before pulling back. “Well, I wouldn’t say it in front Jesse James, at least.” 

“I’ve been admiring your work for awhile. I feel I can safely say you give Jesse James a run for his money.” Castiel licks his lips and Dean can’t help tracking the movement with his eyes. “Anyway, I better go get ready. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Dean finds himself saying as he watches the man’s hips while he glides gracefully away, his eyes slipping down to Castiel’s curved ass. Dean is attracted to men as well and has had a few flings now and then. He can appreciate a gorgeous man when he sees one.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Dean is wondering why he agreed to this in the first place. It’s torture, plain and simple. They cleared the showroom floor and Dean drove the Impala in. The other models are done for the day and have been sent home, and now it’s Castiel’s turn to stand in the spotlight. The first outfit they've chosen for Castiel is black leather chaps with a matching vest.

Dean was fine until Castiel turned his back to the camera and gave everyone in the room a full view of his delectable ass. Then the model looked over his shoulder and connected those blue eyes with Dean’s, holding his gaze for a full minute or two before changing poses. Castiel currently has his hands on the hood, back arched, head thrown back with his eyes closed.

Dean is having trouble trying to hide the fact that he’s hard; his mind is racing with vivid images of taking Castiel, bending the man over the hood of his car, holding him down while Dean slips into him. Dean can’t help but imagine how Castiel’s body would feel wrapped around his cock. He wonders if he could get lost in the heat of the man’s body and it’s those thoughts that have him wanting to hear what Castiel sounds like in the throes of passion. Thankfully, no one seems to be paying him any mind. With the exception of Castiel, at least.

Every chance the model gets, his blue eyes find Dean. The straw that breaks the camel’s back is when Castiel rests his chest against the hood of the car, and in the split second their eyes meet, he winks at Dean, as if he knows exactly what is running through Dean’s mind. Dean has to push the heel of his hand against his erection and stifle a moan that threatens to escape.

Charlie, goddess that she is, calls for a lunch break and Dean practically leaps out of his chair. In his office, he grabs a bottled water out of the mini fridge and downs it in one, long gulp. Maybe he should lock himself in his office until Charlie is done, he thinks to himself. But he's pretty sure he can handle this, or at the very least that he _should_ be able to.

Dean Winchester doesn’t get rattled by a little innocent flirting. For some reason, though, he doesn’t think that’s what is going on here. Logically, Dean knows that all models are told to make love to the camera; they are supposed to look desirable. It’s possibly the fact that Dean wants the heated looks Castiel threw his way to actually mean something. Maybe?

He sits down in the chair behind his desk, deciding he needs to take care of the unrelenting hard-on in his pants if he’s going to make it through the rest of the day. Dean grabs the lube out of one of the drawers in his desk. He practically lives at the shop and it’s handy to have lube around for when it’s been too long and he doesn’t have the time to go home. His fingers unbutton his jeans, lowering the zipper. Pouring a generous amount of the liquid into his hand and lets his head fall back and the fantasy in his head take over.

* * *

After quickly jerking off and eating the lunch he brought from home, Dean walks back out into the showroom. He only has about five minutes of peace when Charlie, her crew, and Castiel come back in as well. Dean backs the car out of the showroom and drives her to the garage. Once she’s safely tucked away, he walks over to his bike and drives her inside.

Dean makes small talk with Charlie while everything is set up for the next photo shoot until Castiel walks out of the makeshift dressing room barefoot in a white tank top and jeans. Dean’s eyes roam over the man, taking in every minute detail. Damn, Castiel is beautiful.

Yeah, if he didn’t think he was fucked before, he gets his confirmation when Castiel straddles Dean's bike. Motherfucker. The man looks like he belongs on the motorcycle; the only thing missing is Dean. That observation is followed by the thought of Castiel riding behind him, the man’s arms wrapped around Dean’s waist, Castiel’s thighs pressed against his. Fuck if that doesn’t make Dean hard. Again. He shakes himself from the images as Castiel stands up and pulls his shirt up to rest right under his nipples, parting his lips, Dean notices the moisture on Castiel’s lips under the lights and finds himself wanting to lick them for a taste. Castiel winks at Dean for the second time that day when they make eye contact.

Son of a bitch, Dean’s spank bank is rapidly filling with everything Castiel. When the model unbuttons his jeans and they slip down to lie just below Castiel’s ass, Dean forgets how to breathe. Castiel is standing with his legs spread enough to where the jeans won’t fall, his back to the camera. He pulls off his shirt and looks over his shoulder at Charlie.

The next twenty minutes pass in a blur and Dean damn near jumps when Charlie calls out that it’s a wrap. The redhead walks over to him and thanks him for allowing them to use his showroom and bikes. Dean prays to everything holy that she doesn’t notice the bulge in his jeans as he stands up and shakes her hand. She invites him out to dinner, which he declines, but exchanges numbers with her so they can meet up the following week.

As everyone files out Dean starts shutting off the lights and heading back to his office. He kicks himself for not talking to Castiel before he left, but decides that maybe it’s for the best. Dean’s shit when it comes to anything more than a one night stand or a fun month or two. He’s just about to sit down at his desk and catalog invoices when he hears the front door chimes rattling, signaling the entrance of someone in the front of the store.

 _Fuck_ , he didn’t lock up. Since the shop is clearly closed for the day, Dean isn’t quite sure who it could be other than possibly his brother. Sam does tend to drop in at least two or three times a week when he can break away from work. Dean heads back up front and stops short when he sees that it's Castiel leaning against the counter by the register.

His feet move of their own accord, and he has to clear his throat to get it to work. “Hey.”

Castiel’s pink lips quirk up in a small smile, and his tongue darts out to wet them, “Hello, Mr. Winchester.”

“It’s Dean,” he says with a smile. “My father was Mr. Winchester.

The model nods and returns the smile, “Dean it is then.”

“Did you forget something?”

The other man chuckles softly, “Actually, I did. I seem to have walked out of here without your number.” When Dean doesn’t answer right away Castiel adds quickly, “Unless I read you wrong. If that’s the case, I apologize.”

No, Castiel definitely didn’t read him wrong, and Dean tells the man as much. Dean digs into his pocket to get his phone, but comes up empty-handed and remembers that he left it in his office after lunch. “Um, I left my phone in the back, I’ll go get it.” And why does he sound like a nervous teenager? “You can come if you want.” Dean groans aloud at his choice of words, but he turns around and heads for his office.

“Such a gentleman,” Castiel replies. From the tone of his voice, Dean is pretty sure the man is only half teasing him.

Dean can hear Castiel’s soft footsteps following him, and his body hums with the awareness that they’re alone together in his shop. When they reach the office door, Dean steps aside to allow Castiel entrance first. Dean gestures for the man to have a seat, walks over to his desk, and grabs his phone, when he turns around Castiel is extremely close to him. All Dean would have to do is slightly reach out to touch him. Dean clears his throat and holds his phone up wordlessly. Castiel takes the phone from him and types his number into the device. He apparently sends a text to his phone, because Dean hears it go off in Castiel’s pocket.

“There we go,” Castiel says as he hands the phone back to Dean. His fingers brush against Dean’s palm and Castiel smiles. “Are you busy later?”

Dean doesn’t even stop to think before he answers, “Got something in mind, Cas?”

“Cas?” The man tilts his head to one side, his eyes tracing Dean’s face slowly, like Castiel is trying to memorize what Dean looks like.

Dean's hand moves to the back of his head, rubbing his neck, “Yeah. Um, Castiel is kind of a mouthful.” ~~~~

“That I am,” Castiel replies in a low voice. And fuck, who knew anyone’s voice could sound that close to Dean’s definition of spoken sex. He moves in closer to Dean, close enough that Dean can smell the hint of cinnamon coming from the man as Castiel’s warm breath skates over Dean’s skin, “How about we go get dinner? Maybe a nightcap at my place?” It’s easy to see how one may be intimidated by a man as gorgeous as Castiel. However, seeing the model in his street clothes of jeans and a well-worn Henley, Dean gets the idea the man is pretty laid-back and easy going.

Just standing this close to Castiel and hearing the man’s voice drop impossibly lower has Dean’s dick straining in his pants. The hair on his arms stands on-end and goose bumps are breaking out all over his body. “Ye-yeah.” Dean should be embarrassed that his voice sounds more like a squeak, but he isn't. No one has ever affected Dean like this, and he would be stupid to turn down getting a chance to know Castiel better. “Sounds good,” he says. Thankfully, he now sounds more like himself.

Castiel steps even closer, forcing Dean to step back far enough that he’s pressed up against his own desk. The model puts a hand down on either side of Dean and leans in, “Yes, I agree. It does.” His lips barely brush Dean’s earlobe, causing heat to travel down Dean’s spine.

Who the fuck _is_ this man and where has he been all of Dean’s life?

Castiel pulls back just enough to meet Dean’s eyes, “Pick me up at seven, on your motorcycle.” He leans back in and whispers, “I want to feel my body pressed against yours on the back of your bike.”

Dean’s pretty sure he hears himself gasp, and fuck, that’s never happened before, no matter how intimate the situation was. He tries to collect himself, but smooth, confident Dean seems _just_ out of reach. “Seven sounds good,” he manages to get out even though his brain seems to have gone offline. 

Castiel’s deep chuckle reverberates through Dean’s body, and it feels like all the air has been knocked from Dean’s lungs. When the man pulls back, Dean immediately misses the heat from his body but is able to breathe again.

“I’ll text you my address,” Castiel says after meeting Dean’s eyes. His pupils are dilated and Dean does an internal fist pump because now he _knows_ that he's had an effect on the other man.Castiel turns around and walks toward the door, but not before saying, “Seven tonight, Dean. Don’t keep me waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! I may write a follow up if there is enough interest.


End file.
